Yule Ball
by holmes-osapien
Summary: Molly and Sherlock attend the yule ball. Just not quite together at first.


The swirl of ball gowns was almost mesmerizing, as women were swept graciously across the elegant dance floor by their male companions. Sapphire, vermillion and virescent blended together with the swish of mermaid and A-line dresses, as the different materials converged. The hems, lapped at the ankles and the feet were adorned with strappy heels or pump heels, clattering on the tiles, with fluid and graceful dances. The walls were lined with imitation snow, which twinkled in the glass chandeliers of the great hall. Beautifully entwined ice crystals, stretched down from the high ceilings. All the participants of the traditional winter festival were covered in flecks of silver snow, as when the icicles dripped, the drops magnificently transformed into spiraling snowflakes. No two were alike, as the patterns were infinite in complexity but each with outstanding grandeur.

Molly lay alone outside the building, on the edge of the forest. She stared up at the night's sky, and watched as the stars glistened high up above. Her dress was splayed out around her. In the placid light rays of the moon, the cerulean colour of her dress seemed almost white. She sighed, and her breath clouded the air around her mouth, as the hot air met the cold. Shivering involuntary, she shifted her position in attempt to become more comfortable. She should have been indoors, but she could not bring herself to be around the bustles of people. This evening had not gone at all how had hoped. She was supposed to have a date, but he so inconsiderately ditched her. This she did not particularly mind, as he was an utter imbecile anyway, but it had been a cause for initial disappointment. Molly had quickly dislodged herself from the situation. She exited the school abruptly to escape the ever-increasing claustrophobic atmosphere. When she was comfortably lying on the grass, she allowed the pent up emotion to escape her in floods of tears. She felt more relaxed under the provision of the night. She felt calmed and renewed, as she allowed herself to escape from the world for a few hours.

Sherlock detested social gatherings. They were pointless, since every event was always consistently disastrous. He sat at a table in the far corner, locked in is mind palace, in desperate attempt to escape the irritating confinement of the great hall. He could only tolerate his immature peers at the best of times, so how on earth was he supposed to deal with them running havoc? He groaned as a pair of insufferable fourth years, dropped into the seat beside him. They could barely keep their hands off of each other. He leapt up from his seat and stormed out of the building; he could not stand human interaction any longer.

Once he was outside, his head began to clear. He could now control his quick pace mind. Strolling the grounds, he passed next to no one. As he approached the edge of the newly reconstructed bridge, he saw a girl lying in the grass, on the side of a small mound of earth. Upon venturing closer he saw it was Molly, a perky and alert girl, he had made friends with when he first arrived here. Molly was one of his only friends and he trusted her as if his life depended on it. This was remarkable as he was almost inhuman, and seemed to not understand the concept of friendship. Yet he found his alliance with Molly natural. She was in her sixth year of Hogwarts, just like himself. Both of them were assigned Ravenclaw as their house upon arrival.

Sherlock deduced from her bizarre disappearance from the hall, and reappearance in the grounds, that she was previously distressed. He could hear sniffling, indicating she had been crying, but also suffering from the effects of the cold. He knew at once the evening was depressing for her; her date must have gone wrong. At this realization, his blood boiled and wanted to make the mystery man, who was the current cause of Molly's sadness, pay for what he'd done. He shocked himself at this. Never before had he felt so overly protective of Molly. He took it as a symbol of friendship, but he considered it to be possibly more.

With his sudden outburst he decided to investigate further, and lurched forward to drop down beside her. Simultaneously, he pulled off his jacket and threw it lightly around her shoulders, as he fell gracefully to the floor. Molly jumped at the sudden abruptness of his proximity, but settled back into her state of haziness, as she realized who had invaded her corner of the school grounds. "I take it your night hasn't been brilliant either then?" She whispered scared to break the long silence they had just endured. He chuckled quietly, and whispered back, "Not as unbearable as yours seems to have been." He leaned forward as he brushed the tip of his finger under her eye; in attempt to wipe away the massacre smudges left from her tears. This was the type of gesture that left them both in a state of confusion. The simple brush of skin on skin was the least bit sexual, yet with the pair of them, it was transformed into something entirely new.

He wasn't quite sure why he did it. It seemed highly illogical, but Sherlock seemed to be held captive in Molly's sweet gaze. Uncharacteristically they both leaned towards each other. Sherlock heard the breath hitch in Molly's throat, and warily pulled back. "Sorry I don't know-" he began before Molly turned his head by his chin with her thumb and forefinger. "You talk too much." She whispered.

A grin spread across his face. "I know." He muttered before he leaned in and captured her lips with his own. The kiss lasted a brief second before he abruptly pulled back. She frowned, "Is there something wrong?" He chuckled and jumped to his feet. Sherlock proceeded to haul her to her feet also. "Come on, lets go dance. This night doesn't have to end badly." He winked at her, "I've always loved to dance." He was her turn to giggle. "I know." She echoed him, whilst reaching up to peck his nose. Sighing he said, "Don't distract me. We are going to dance." Molly groaned at him in mock horror, but a small smile reached her lips as he hurled her to the great hall. Maybe Sherlock wasn't as inhuman as everyone thought.

FIN. -Jess


End file.
